


after

by TC (thecollective)



Series: Bedtime Stories [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Fluff, Episode: s04e03 The Final Problem, Fluff, I just really want these jerks to be happy ok, M/M, Missing Scene, POV Sherlock Holmes, Sharing a Bed, Sherlock Interacting with Children
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-20
Updated: 2017-01-20
Packaged: 2018-09-18 17:15:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9395285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecollective/pseuds/TC
Summary: When it's all said and done, Eurus returns to Sherrinford, Mycroft returns to his posh office, Molly to the morgue, Gary (no, Greg) to the station, and John to his house. No, Mary's house.Sherlock doesn't return to Baker Street.A missing scene ficlet for "The Final Problem."





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jacksqueen16](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jacksqueen16/gifts).



> *sigh* well, here we are. 
> 
> Not beta'ed. Not Brit-picked. All mistakes are my own.

When it's all said and done, Eurus returns to Sherrinford, Mycroft returns to his posh office, Molly to the morgue, Gary (no, _Greg_ ) to the station, and John to his house. No, _Mary's_ house.

Sherlock doesn't return to Baker Street. Neither does Mrs. Hudson. They can't. There's currently no Baker street to return to. Mycroft's minions are working round the clock to repair the building, and while Sherlock isn't bothered by the rubble, Mrs. Hudson had staunchly refused to set foot inside and had demanded a suite at the nearest 5-star hotel. "They _owe_  me," she'd said. 

Sherlock supposes that they owe her at least that much. 

He's just settled into his room at the hotel when he hears a soft rap at the door.

It's John, with Rosie slung on one hip, and a case in his hand. He lets John in--of course he does, it's _John_ \--and watches as the doctor takes in the room and mutters, "So this is the best the British government can offer?"

There's another rap at the door, and hotel employees wheel in a crib.

"John?" Sherlock asks. He doesn't want to presume (because John hates his presumptions), but it looks like John is there to stay the night.

"Mycroft told me where you were. I thought you wouldn't want to be alone."

Sherlock doesn't miss the "I don't want to be alone either" left loudly unspoken by his friend. 

"Left or right side?"

"Right."

John  moves the crib closer to his side of the bed ( _John's_ side; there are _sides_ ). He puts Rosie to bed, singing softly, something about the Duke of York. The little girl gurgles, and giggles, but eventually falls asleep. 

Sherlock watches, entranced.

"Right," says John when his daughter is asleep. "Keep an eye on her while I..." his voice trails off as he gestures toward the bathroom. 

"Of course."

It isn't until Sherlock hears the running water from the shower that he lets himself stand by Rosie's crib, gazing down at the sleeping child. _She has Mary's nose_ , he thinks. The thought startles in its normality. Isn't that what _other_  people, normal people, say about children? 

Rosie stirs, cries a little. 

Sherlock has deduced that a familiar voice will soothe her, so he recites the periodic table of elements from memory. It doesn't soothe her as much as he'd hoped so he tries singing, though John has the better voice. He doesn't know any nursery rhymes so he sings the details of a murder investigation to the tune of what he thinks may be "O Come All Ye Faithful."

_Suspect Steve Avery, age of forty-three, arrested for murder in the first degree._

Rosie quiets, but Sherlock continues to sing. He sings all the details of the case that he knows (which is quite a few), and he doesn't hear the shower switch off, or hear John pad back into the bedroom. 

"Been watching Netflix again?" John asks.

"When would I have time to do that? There are cases to solve. 

"Sherlock, you just recited all of _Making a Murder_  to my infant daughter." John laughs. "It's called binge watching."

Sherlock huffs. The American criminal justice system is ridiculous at best, and grossly ineffective at its worst. 

John slides into the bed, and pats the space beside him. Right, then. Sherlock follows, awkwardly leaving a space of 12 inches between them, the amount of personal space he's deduced is the minimum required for politeness. 

John turns out the light, and scoots in so there's barely a half inch between them in some places and none at all in others. "Your feet are cold," John complains. 

 "Your hair is wet," Sherlock returns. 

John still pulls at Sherlock's arms until the taller man is wrapped around him, not seeming to mind Sherlock's feet, not really. Sherlock would be lying if he said that he hated the smell of John's shampoo.  

The lights of London flicker outside, reminding Sherlock of synapses firing (he thinks of an experiment to try, involving cortical remapping and a one-legged exotic dancer he knows in Cardiff). "Enough, Sherlock," says John. "Whatever you're planning, leave it until we've made our home habitable again and safe for Rosie." 

_Our home_. Said as if John plans to stay.

"Actually, making 221B child friendly will take a lot of work," surmises John. "Perhaps I should thank Mycroft. His people are actually doing the brunt of it."

"Give him a pack of cigs," Sherlock says, thinking of the one a year he gets from his brother.

Sherlock can hear the frown in John's voice when he says, "I'm a _doctor_." 

"Fine. Cake then."

"Or we could just have him round to dinner, you know, like a normal couple."

Normal. Couple. Sherlock filters through every given definition of the words and their etymology, just to make sure he's understood John correctly (he misses so many social cues, as the doctor is quick to point out). He doesn't, however, misunderstand the meaning of the quick press of John's lips to his own, or the mumbled "see you in the morning", or the way John tucks his head into the crook of Sherlock's neck. 

"Sherlock?" John's voice rumbles against Sherlock's skin. "Learn some proper nursery rhymes, yeah? Let's leave murder out of it until Rosie is in secondary at least."

"Of course, John." 

 John goes to sleep, and, surprisingly, it doesn't take Sherlock long to follow. He knows that John will be there in the morning.

And every day after.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos & Comments are love.


End file.
